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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22542886">Back to my Horse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinady/pseuds/Brinady'>Brinady</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Episode Tag, Gen, Hurt/Comfort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:33:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22542886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinady/pseuds/Brinady</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode Tag to Season 1 Episode 3- Betrayer Moon<br/>In which an injured Geralt just wants to get back to his horse, and a certain sorceress feels the need to look after him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Back to my Horse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I need to get back to my horse.” He repeated. Why did no one ever <em> listen </em> when he said that. A man’s first and most solemn duty was to his horse, and he’d left Roach in the care of that dubious innkeeper. </p><p>The witch’s words about fate and destiny had disturbed him more than he’d care to admit, but that was surely the blood loss and whatever concoction of herbs she’d used on him making him suggestible.</p><p>He shook his head marginally, clearing the thought. He regretted the motion.</p><p>“Where are my clothes and armor?” He asked.</p><p>Triss Merigold looked disappointed but also somewhat resigned, “Geralt,” she said patiently, “You know you shouldn’t. You need more time to heal.”</p><p>“My clothes, woman.”</p><p>She picked up a plain tunic from a nearby chair and handed it over to him. “Your shirt couldn’t be saved, so I found you another.”</p><p>He grunted his thanks and slowly shrugged into the tunic, unable to stifle a few groans of pain as the movement stretched broken ribs and tugged at numerous stitched up lacerations. The effort left him with an arm wrapped around his chest, breathing heavily.</p><p>“Geralt…” </p><p>He put a finger up to silence her and scowled. “My armor and swords?” he asked, once he could trust his voice again.</p><p>“Over there,” she indicated a desk on the other side of the room where the items in question were stacked in a neat pile. “And I found your cloak outside the old castle where you left it.” She pointed and, indeed, the cloak was folded neatly by the other equipment.</p><p>“Than-- aw, <em> f*#$. </em>” He had tried to stand and found that his right leg had either a deep cut or bad sprain (or both) that made it violently protest taking his weight. He sat back down on the cot with a hiss and took a long moment to collect himself. </p><p>“Geralt, where’s your horse? I can send for it and you can stay and rest, heal.”</p><p>“Eastfold.”</p><p>“Eastfold?! That’s at least a day’s walk from here.”</p><p>“I know,” he growled, “because I walked here. And that’s why I want to <em> get back to my horse </em>.” He stood again, this time putting most of his weight on his uninjured leg, and limped with obvious effort to his belongings.</p><p>“You can’t possibly expect to…”</p><p>“I can and I will.” He snarled, more angry than he expected. </p><p>He struggled into the silver studded jacket, which was still torn and blood-stained at the neck, and found that while buttoning it was unspeakably painful, it was stiff enough to provide some welcome support for his aching ribs. The belt, likewise, was difficult to wrangle, but ultimately helpful. The gauntlets and pauldrons were superfluous at the moment, so he looped a spare length of bandage through them and hung them from his belt. </p><p>Finally, and with such difficulty that Merigold couldn’t help but offer assistance, he strapped his sword belt in it’s customary place over his right shoulder, thankful that the princess hadn’t slashed the right side of his neck, or it would be impossible. Gloves and cloak went on over the rest, and the wounded witcher was ready, in his own estimation, to travel. </p><p>He judged his head clear enough, so he took a moment to run through a few mental exercises from his training, compartmentalizing the pain and promoting healing. He slowly straightened, relaxing tightened muscles, breathing more slowly, then strode forward. He found he couldn’t erase the limp completely, but it was less pronounced, at least. </p><p>He paused at the door, looking back at the witch who wore an expression of mingled horror and admiration.</p><p>“Thank you for your help.” He growled softly. “May we never meet again.” And he left.</p>
<hr/><p>“Stubborn fool…” Triss muttered under her breath. </p><p>On one hand, she could understand his need for independence, his desire to keep moving, to leave a place where he’d experienced open hostility. Witchers lived a harsh existence, and often faced considerably more danger from prejudiced humans rather than the monsters they hunted. </p><p>Still, she hadn’t tended the half-dead man for two days and a night just to let him die on the road to Eastfold.</p><p>She gathered up her cloak and went to saddle her horse. </p>
<hr/><p>Geralt breathed an abbreviated sigh of relief as he finally left the outskirts of Temeria behind. The effort of concealing his injuries was taxing reserves of strength that he simply did not have. It had been necessary while he was under threat of observation by the townsfolk, but now at least he was free to ease the burden on his leg and ribs. </p><p>He cursed the timing of his departure. </p><p>
  <em> Smart, Geralt. Leave in the night, in freezing weather…. </em>
</p><p>He knew he should have turned back and spent the night with the witch or, better yet, bothered to ask what time of day it was before his hasty departure.</p><p>
  <em> Foolish pride. </em>
</p><p>Keeping an eye out for a long while he finally spotted a broken branch along the road that would serve as a staff to lean on. It would help, if only a little.</p><p>A very light snow had dusted the ground and the road ahead glowed softly with reflected moonlight. Under different circumstances it would have been beautiful. Geralt was just glad to see a lack of tracks other than his own. He would much prefer to remain alone on the road. Never mind that even an inexperienced tracker could see his trail and guess that he was limping. </p><p>Yards became miles as minutes became hours. </p><p>Geralt was losing all sense of time as pain narrowed his focus to the effort of taking each individual agonizing step. </p><p><em> Have to get back to Roach</em>, he kept telling himself.</p><p>Among other things, there were spare potions in his saddle bags that would help him heal.</p><p>Eventually he found himself stumbling. Willpower was no longer able to keep him putting one foot in front of the other. </p><p><em> Maybe I’ve come halfway... </em> His tired mind hoped. <em> If I rest now I can keep going in the morning… </em></p><p>A pine tree with thick boughs was growing next to the road, dry underneath where the snow could not reach. He limped over, then dropped slowly to his knees and crawled forward to lean up against the trunk. He wrapped his cloak around himself as tightly as he could manage, and then drifted into a restless, painful sleep.</p>
<hr/><p>Geralt awoke to the sound of hooves crunching snow. His whole body tensed, awakening the memories and pains of the previous night, but he didn’t move-- he had been trained to assess before reacting. </p><p>The hoof-falls approached at a walk. From under the boughs he could see the fetlocks of two horses about to, hopefully, pass by him on the road. He looked at where his trail should be. <em> No, just a fresh dusting of snow. Good. </em> He should be reasonably well-concealed from the vantage of the riders.</p><p>Or perhaps not.</p><p>The lead horse stopped parallel to his tree, and the second horse approached directly, hooves crunching snow and leaves as it departed from the road, heading directly to his hiding place. He tensed, one hand on his sword. A battle was the last thing he wanted at this precise moment, but a witcher seldom gets what he wants.</p><p>The horse stopped. </p><p>No rider dismounted. </p><p>The horse’s head dipped down into view, it’s muzzle snuffling the ground a few feet away from his outstretched foot. </p><p>It was a face he knew well.</p><p>“Roach!” He exclaimed, his voice coming out in surprised croak.</p><p>The mare huffed in recognition, flipping her ears toward him expectantly.</p><p>He scrambled awkwardly to get up and out from under the tree, growling and cursing in turn at the pain. </p><p>Roach took a step back politely, tossing her head as if to encourage him. </p><p>Finally he stood at her shoulder, leaning against her as she inspected him with a placid eye. </p><p>“What in the hell are you…” he began, but then finally spotted the rider of the other horse. “You…” </p><p>Triss Merigold smiled and nodded. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” He accused, in a still-raspy voice, “And how did you…” something clicked in his mind, “You did <em>not</em> use sorcery on my horse.” He put a protective arm around Roach’s neck. </p><p>She nuzzled him in return.</p><p>“You are correct-- I did <em> not </em> .” Marigold replied. “I used sorcery on <em> my </em> horse. Walked her through a portal, actually, and, as you can see, she is no worse for the wear. But I paid your debts to a very surly innkeeper and retrieved your horse -- I’ll want repayment for that -- and rode down here to meet you.”</p><p>Geralt scowled, though he had to admit to himself that her plan seemed to have been effective. “What if you had missed me in the snow?” he pointed out.</p><p>“Very unlikely,” she replied, not bothering to hide her smugness, “What with the tracking spell I put under your collar…”</p><p>“F*^#.” Geralt immediately fished under his shirt and easily found a scrap of parchment with a rune inscribed on it. He tore it into several pieces and threw them on the snow. </p><p>“Really, Geralt, you are barely a quarter of the way to Eastfold. I very well may have saved your life, <em> again. </em>”</p><p>Geralt growled, before fumbling for the purse he’d received from her the night before. </p><p>“Here,” he said, limping over to her horse and proffering a handful of coins. “For my debts and your trouble.” </p><p>The sorceress looked for a moment like she might not accept the payment after all, but then evidently changed her mind and put out her hand. </p><p>Geralt grunted his satisfaction and turned back to his horse, inspecting her tack and saddle-bags, before transferring a few of his burdens to their customary places. </p><p>He felt the tingle of magic flow past him as the witch opened up a portal. Roach stiffened, staring behind Geralt with alarmed eyes, but she knew better than to bolt at the first sign of magic.</p><p>“Take care of yourself, Geralt of Rivia.” The witch said in a tone that was both kind and sad. </p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>The portal closed and Geralt didn’t look back. </p><p>He tightened the horse’s girth for riding, slipped the bridle over her head and the bit into her mouth. </p><p>“Ready to go Roach?” he asked.</p><p>The horse whickered.</p><p>He took a deep breath, preparing to stand on his injured leg for a moment as he put his left foot in the stirrup. He hissed the breath out as the motion of mounting pained not only his leg but his ribs, and he sat for a moment hunched in the saddle while Roach gave him side-eye and flicked her ears back at him in worry. </p><p>Finally his breathing evened out and he eased back in the saddle. Roach evidently felt his return to calm through his posture, because she bobbed her head and stomped a foot, ready to go. </p><p>“Hold on.” He told her, a quick tug on the reins checking her impulse. He fished in a saddle bag and eventually came up with the draught he was looking for. </p><p>He regarded the vial.</p><p>“Better get some healing done on the road, eh Roach.”</p><p>The horse snorted at her name.</p><p>He downed the contents of the vial and then put the empty away in the other saddle bag.</p><p>“Alright, let’s go.”</p><p>Roach pulled ahead into a fast walk, happy to be back with her rider.</p><p>Geralt gave a contented sigh, slipping into what amounted to half of a healing trance, likewise pleased to be back with his faithful companion and on the road again.</p>
<hr/><p>That night Triss Merigold activated yet another portal, stepping through unmounted this time, and found herself standing in the snow beside an abandoned farmhouse. A tendril of smoke emerged lazily from, of all places, the small barn that adjoined the house, accompanied by the faintest flickering of light from under the barn door. The rest of the building, like the surrounding forest, was silent in the frozen night. </p><p>
  <em> What an odd place to have camped.  </em>
</p><p>But there was zero chance the other tracking rune she’d sewn into witcher’s cloak had failed. </p><p>She shook her head, then called upon a simple silence spell that would mask all sounds she might make. She walked up to the barn door and peered inside. </p><p>A small campfire crackled in a circle of stones that had obviously been created and used by numerous travelers since the barn’s abandonment. Beside the campfire, curled up in his cloak and a threadbare blanket evidently from the farmhouse, lay the wounded witcher. </p><p>Beside him, also curled up with her head pressed against his back, lay his horse. She too wore a blanket, but hers was far larger and thicker than the one Geralt had allowed himself. </p><p><em> Self-sacrificing to a fault, this one. </em> Triss shook her head.</p><p>She withdrew a few paces from barn door and conjured a much smaller portal, enough for her to reach through and...<em> there it is! </em>...extract a warm blanket from her bedroom. </p><p>Wordlessly she extended the range of her silence spell and stepped into the barn. She was counting on the witcher’s exhaustion to keep him from sensing her minor spells in his sleep. </p><p>She put a few more sticks on the dwindling fire, using magic to stoke the flames more quickly than was quite natural, and then gently laid her blanket over Geralt’s sleeping form. She realized she was holding her breath. It felt like she was sneaking into a dragon’s lair to steal treasure.</p><p>She breathed a silent sigh of relief when he did not stir, and she quickly used magic to scan him. She was surprised at what she found, though she supposed she shouldn’t be. He was, indeed, healing well, if perhaps somewhat slower than he might have, had he allowed himself more time to rest. Still, all of his wounds and even his broken ribs were healing far faster than they would, were he a normal human. </p><p>He would, she surmised, be alright. </p><p>She smiled in relief. </p><p>She wasn’t sure why she had felt such a responsibility to this man. She had employed him to do a job for which he was well trained. The fact that he had been injured in carrying out that job was also a common hazard of his profession. Still, some part of her had needed to see to it that he survived. Perhaps it was the strength of the powerful destiny that was pulling him along, puppeteering not only the witcher himself, but those in his circle of influence. </p><p>Whatever the case, she was now satisfied that her duty to him was fulfilled.</p><p>She made a sharp motion with one hand that severed the threads of the tracking rune, rendering it inert. </p><p>“Goodbye again, Geralt,” she mouthed, soundlessly.</p><p>Then she stepped out of the barn and into a portal.</p>
<hr/><p>In the barn, the night noises returned as swiftly as they had been extinguished. </p><p>Geralt sighed with a half-smile as he shifted under the pleasant warmth of the new blanket.</p><p>He extended a hand behind him and scratched the horse behind the ear. </p><p>“'Night Roach,” he murmured, as he drifted off to sleep. <em> Goodnight, witch. </em></p>
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